


an abundance of filth (穢多)

by deplore



Series: Holiday Season 2014 [1]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 20:39:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2786981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deplore/pseuds/deplore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kuroko’s been crossing the line to the underground world long enough to have made a few observations on unspoken habits and customs of organized crime. Everyone wears black suits because the bloodstains don’t show up on them as visibly. Like clockwork, between the ages of 24 and 28, men of all ranks have a strong likelihood of picking up smoking. Those who surround themselves with too much vice are guaranteed to burn bright and burn out fast; people speak their names in awe for two weeks before they’re extinguished by the latest spark fizzling. Yakuza who put their initiation tattoos in easily visible places are either among the savviest or the most idiotic.</p><p>So when a young man around his age strides into a high-class bar in Shuutoku territory wearing a kimono in white and light blues, one of the fanciest kimonos Kuroko’s ever laid eyes on, sits at the bar, and neither orders a drink nor lights up a cigarette – just lifts his left arm up to wave away the bartender, revealing part of a tattoo in brilliant red and gold that wraps around his wrist and tapers off to his ring finger – Kuroko unconsciously straightens up before moving a few seats closer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	an abundance of filth (穢多)

Kuroko’s been crossing the line to the underground world long enough to have made a few observations on unspoken habits and customs of organized crime. Everyone wears black suits because the bloodstains don’t show up on them as visibly and lately people favor the clean-cut Western style. Like clockwork, between the ages of 24 and 28, men of all ranks have a strong likelihood of picking up smoking – those who already smoke have a strong likelihood of turning to drugs that are even more insidious. Those who surround themselves with too much vice are guaranteed to burn bright and burn out fast; people speak their names in awe for two weeks before they’re extinguished by the latest spark fizzling. Yakuza who put their initiation tattoos in easily visible places are either among the savviest or the most idiotic.

So when a young man around his age strides into a high-class bar in Shuutoku territory wearing a kimono in white and light blues, one of the fanciest kimonos Kuroko’s ever laid eyes on, sits at the bar, and neither orders a drink nor lights up a cigarette – just lifts his left arm up to wave away the bartender, revealing part of a tattoo in brilliant red and gold that wraps around his wrist and tapers off to his ring finger – Kuroko unconsciously straightens up before moving a few seats closer.  “Let Shintarou know I’m here to talk to him,” he overhears the man tell a Shuutoku lieutenant, not even bothering to look up. High-ranking, then, Kuroko thinks to himself, because Takao Kazunari is one of Shuutoku’s best-regarded members and they’re surrounded by underlings who’d jump to take offense at far smaller discourtesies.

Takao, for his part, just smiles and nods obligingly. “Anything else you’d like me to say to him, Akashi-san?” he asks.

There’s a pause before Akashi tilts his head towards Takao and replies, “Tell him I’m ready to pick up on our last game of shogi.”

Kuroko watches Akashi take a brief look around the room as Takao leaves the bar, and for a split second, Kuroko experiences something that he’s rarely felt before: the distinct sensation of being observed.

It’s the first time that Kuroko wonders if he’s made a mistake, venturing so willingly into the darker side of society. He leaves the bar not ten minutes later and takes the long way home.

 

 

The thing is, one doesn’t have to be the member of a gang to live in the underground. Seirin, despite having a name, is not a gang. They’ve among them dirty doctors and informants, but none of them will touch a weapon except in self-defense, and all of them have a strict policy on being neutral in turf wars. Those who can pay will receive service and those who can’t are ignored. It’s a simple enough business, and Kuroko has debts to pay back faster than an honest living can allow for.

When Akashi strides into Seirin’s dingy, dark-lit office, Kuroko is struck by a certain sense of off-key juxtaposition. Their furniture is strained at the seams and stained in liquids that Kuroko makes the active choice not to think about; Akashi has nary a wrinkle in his clothes – a kimono again, this time in various shades of grey. There are cobwebs in the corners; Kuroko suspects Akashi gets regular manicures. Akashi’s outfit must easily triple in cost what he, Izuki, Kagami, and Furihata are wearing combined. He feels almost like he’s stumbled into an opium den only to find a princess smoking with her high-heeled feet resting up on somebody’s back: bewildered and viscerally put off, yet morbidly curious as to how the scene came to unfold.

Akashi ignores everyone else and walks over to Kuroko’s tiny desk in the back corner. “Kuroko Tetsuya, am I right?” he asks, and Kuroko immediately gets the impression Akashi must be the type who never asks a question he doesn’t already know the answer to.

He tilts his head, impassive. “Akashi Seijuurou-san,” he replies. Akashi might know who he is, but Kuroko is confident he knows more about Akashi. It’d only taken a single text to the right person to discover that Akashi Seijuurou is the young heir to Rakuzan, one of the oldest yakuza gangs – historically small, but growing in power and prestige steadily in the last few years.

“You know who I am, then,” Akashi says, and smiles in a way Kuroko can only find mildly demeaning. “That saves time. I’d like to contract your services.”

Kuroko turns his head away to stare at the wall adjoining his desk. It’s off-white and has dirt stains; Kuroko finds it infinitely preferable to look at than Akashi. Gazes normally slide right off of Kuroko, but Akashi’s is heavy like a weight on Kuroko’s back. “If you would like me to research information on behalf of Rakuzan, please file your request with Izuki-san,” Kuroko says. “We have our own way of doing things here.”

“Jobs on behalf of a gang have to be discussed with Seirin as a whole before you decide to take it or not,” Akashi replies. “But I am requesting your services purely for my own benefit. From my understanding of how Seirin operates, that means it’s up to your personal discretion as to whether you’d like to take the job or not.”

Kuroko glances around the room – Kagami is watching them with his mouth mildly agape. Izuki is obviously texting Hyuuga and Aida about what’s going on underneath his desk. Furihata jumps in his seat when Kuroko’s eyes meet his. “Let’s talk elsewhere,” Kuroko says.

 

 

Walking next to Akashi makes Kuroko feel appallingly low – not because of a sense that Akashi is better than him, but because of the immutability of circumstance. He thinks of how his life would be different if he had been born the son of a yakuza head, of how he’d never have to worry about such a thing as material debt, of how he’d never have to take shitty jobs playing the ghost around underground haunts, and he feels crushed by the things he was, through no fault of his own, born lacking: money, power, prestige.  

They round the corner and walk two blocks from Seirin’s office to a public park on the outskirts of Touou’s territory. Kuroko can hear Akashi’s clothes drag against the pavement and feels a little better. “Here will do,” Kuroko says. Akashi merely tilts his head in acquiescence and lets Kuroko situate them at a bench beside a statue of two children playing. Not a few yards from them, teenagers play three-on-three streetball.

Akashi looks extremely out of place, but he looks unruffled by the fact. “Shall I cut to the chase, then?” he asks.

“Let’s,” Kuroko agrees.

“There’s a certain person I’d like you to tail. I want to know his daily schedule, where he visits often, what people he interacts with most – a full profile of his activities, and your recommendations on when he would be most vulnerable,” Akashi says.

Kuroko watches the game and does his best to ignore Akashi’s eyes prying at him. One of the teens dunks over his friend and all of them laugh as the posterized victim grumbles. Kuroko thinks of his childhood friend lying in a local hospital comatose, because just a few years ago, they could’ve been two among those on the court and now Kuroko’s stuck with survivor’s guilt and a monthly letter from a loan shark. “What will you do with that information?” he asks.

“To be entirely blunt, I want revenge,” Akashi answers, so steadfastly that Kuroko doesn’t think it’s a lie. “It’s a personal vendetta, nothing related to Rakuzan activities.”

“And how far are you going to go for revenge?” Kuroko says.

“I’d kill him myself,” Akashi says, like he’s discussing what hor d'oeuvre he’d like to serve at a dinner party. “Not quite cleanly, but certainly discreetly. You wouldn’t have to worry about what comes after your part is done.”

Kuroko’s been crossing the line to the underground world long enough to have made a few observations on unspoken habits and customs of organized crime: black suits, tattoos, smoking habits. Another observation that he’s made is that revenge killings fueled purely by a desire for vengeance is never a good idea. Revenge is petty, it’s unprofitable, and it cycles back as destructively as a love-ruined ex you can’t get rid of. Kuroko smiles – here, at least, is one aspect in which he can claw out some feeling of superiority. “Unfortunately, I don’t deal in revenge,” he replies before getting up. “My apologies. I’ll have to pass on this job, Akashi-kun.”  

He leaves just as the game of three-on-three finishes up. Kuroko’s not sure who wins, but he’s certain it doesn’t matter, just as he’s certain that it won’t matter if Akashi Seijuurou gets revenge or not, and if Akashi can’t realize that – it’s no skin off Kuroko’s back. 

**Author's Note:**

> The long version of this is yakuza boss Akashi fixating on this guy who actually turned him down, how dare!! Maybe someday I'll come back and write that, but who knows? 
> 
> Written for the prompt: mafia AU. I'm so sorry because this should have had so much more gratuitous violence.


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